But this But, wait, isn’t the angry-teen thing a part of life? Isn’t that a mandatory stage for just about every kid nationwide, right before they evolve past it and their skin clears up and they finally get laid and then get old enough to drink and buy a minivan and have kids and finally join AA like good Christian adults? makes me angry.

Look, depression is a serious illness. It needs serious treatment. Fifty years ago it was looked on as something you should just “snap out of,” as one profoundly unsympathetic physician told a close relative of mine. For years, if you suffered from fear and dizziness and nausea and tightness in your chest at the thought of sitting up in bed, if you were absolutely unable to function, if the outward manifestation of the tropical storm going on inside your mind was you being unable to button your shirt, I mean being unable to comprehend how you could possibly button your shirt, you were told there was something wrong with YOU. You lacked the gumption to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get over this silly little thing. You could get over it any time you wanted and the only reason you didn’t is because you were malingering, lazy, undisciplined. You you you you.

A lot has changed since that time. There’s therapy now, to change behavior that leads to and exacerbates depression. And there’s drugs. Drugs that don’t make you happy. Drugs that make you sleepy, that make you put on weight. Drugs that make you wonder if it’s you that no longer wants to kill yourself, or if it’s the chemicals. Drugs that don’t shoot you through the cieling. Drugs that keep you from falling through the floor.

Because I don’t have a category on this site yet for “stupidest things said out loud,” I don’t really have a place to put this. But I feel our national security would not be complete without everybody knowing exactly what a stupid, whiny twit this woman is. You hear me, newspaper publishers? Hire this girl at your own peril.

WEEK SIX — Overindulgence Insisting that you aren’t “that drunk.” Asserting that you are “faaaaane.” Repeating sentences four or five times against a rising tide of slur. Hearing those around you yelling, “MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!”; needing help up off the ground. Others speaking to you in tones of voice usually reserved for babies who are crying in church; others physically restraining you. Making out with coworkers.

If they taught this in college, they could drop all those stupid, patronizing “binge-drinking ain’t cool, yo” programs they get government grants for.